


Invasion of the 'Shoulda Coulda Wouldas' and the 'What ifs' of Tomorrow

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes she sits up late and thinks; thinks about how different things could have been, She plays the ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’ game that her parents often discouraged when she was young.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invasion of the 'Shoulda Coulda Wouldas' and the 'What ifs' of Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own TXF. If I did, we would have our revival. I wrote this story a while ago and published it on my blog, but apparently I forgot to publish here. Enjoy!

Sometimes she sits up late and thinks; thinks about how different things could have been, She plays the ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’ game that her parents often discouraged when she was young. 

_"Dana, you have beautiful hair"_

_"Don’t listen to what those kids say, Starbuck."_

Only, the game wasn’t made of seemingly tiny choices and ideas anymore. The “ _But I should dye my hair, mom. All the kids call me ginger,” and “I could raise my hand less in class so they don’t call me names”_ were long gone, replaced by the sickly despair of her consciousness. Of the things she could never change, even if she tried.

It wasn’t much of a game anymore, more of an Invasion. 

As she lays in the bed, long hair fanned on the firm pillow, she hugs the comforter close and thinks.

Thinks about how her meeting with Fox Mulder in that small cluttered office altered their lives. The what ifs invade her mind and her life begins to play like an old-fashioned movie displayed on a reel. 

_What if they never laughed in the rain?_

_What if she brought him ice tea instead of root beer?_

He’s laying right next to her, and she can feel the tension pour off his sleeping form.

His anger is evident in the furrowed brow and clenched hands. He doesn’t reach to her side, doesn’t pull her closer- not that he could.

_Would his life have been different if she’d never walked into the office?_

_Would he have found his truth? He certainly wouldn’t have anyone incessantly nagging him._

No, she stops herself. They were good for each other; She regretted nothing. 

She really shouldn’t ponder these things. They had extensive conversations depicting how their lives could have changed. But that didn’t matter. She loved Mulder and Mulder loved her, even though he seethed in anger. 

Despite her conscious efforts to just lay, to be comforted by his simple being and fall asleep, she finds that she can’t. The ’shoulda, coulda, wouldas’ invaded her mind and refuse to let her rest. They take her to a different time, a different life, a different future.

_She shouldn’t have yelled at him._

_She could have stayed instead of fleeing as she always had_

_She would have come back_

Her terrible game paints a different future. One that didn’t exist for them.

She reaches a nearly translucent hand across the bed and touches his skin. Her whole life she fought the supernatural and here she was. The irony was astounding.

She couldn’t  _live_ , in the grand scheme of thins, with regrets. She hoped that she could help ease his.

 _Let me curse God for a little while, Mulder,_  she nuzzles into his sleeping form.

She closes her eyes and hums softly, a song she knows logically he couldn’t hear but when did he ever follow logic anyway? It won’t be raining sleeping bags, but she finds comfort when an content sigh releases from his chest.

She hears his voice in her head, a memory of a time long ago and recent, the changes in his voice evident in the various echos in her head.  _"I need you Scully," "You’re my touchstone," "I love you."_

_Scully, Scully, Scully._

Life would have been different if things could be changed, but they couldn’t.

She loved him. And he loved her. 

That was all that mattered.

The ‘what ifs’ and ‘shoulda coulda wouldas’ were over, at least for tonight.

But they weren’t. Not really. There’s one final ‘What if’ of a nonexistent tomorrow that refuses to be eradicated as she opens his tightly clenched hands with ease and leans her body into his embrace. His face relaxes instantly and she smiles. She shouldn’t be here, she really shouldn’t, but the question kept her awake, kept her close to him.

Despite her affirmations and beliefs she can’t help the monumental ‘what if’ that circles around her mind so frequently that sometimes she forgets it’s there. 

 _"I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us,"_  he had said to her once

So she leans in closer, as close as she can get, taking in the smell of her touchstone. Her husband. Her partner.

She whispers, almost ethereally into his ear, hoping that since he heard that Jeremiah was a good friend, he could hear her silent apology.

"I believe you"

As the sun begins to rise, she takes one last look at his face before he wakes, his beautiful, Mulder face. A single tear slides down his cheek and she attempts to wipe it, even as it continues to slide down his face unfazed to her touch. 

Her time is fleeting so she steals one last glance until they meet again. And they will meet again, this much she knows.

The final ‘what if’ disappears on her tongue as morning arrives and he cracks an eye open, catching her ephemeral form one last time.

_What if she was still alive?_

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought! I didn't plan to kill her off initially, but the story made me and I can only write angst.


End file.
